


Our Timeline on the Walls

by astudyinsolitude (taylormicky)



Series: Stucky Drabbles & Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, PWP, bucky barnes is a punk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylormicky/pseuds/astudyinsolitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes slowly recovers, remembers, and decides to play a little prank on Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Timeline on the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'ed, unread, I wrote this at 3 in the morning because it wouldn't let go. Any and all errors are mine and should hopefully be corrected once I've slept for at least 10 hours so bear with me for a day or two!

Steve and Bucky get rough, sometimes.

It’s to be expected, of course, for a multitude of reasons.

When Bucky first got taken in by Steve and the other Avengers - and taken in is a very _mild_ term for passively trying to kill anyone around him who wasn’t Steve (and occasionally him too) - well, Bucky wasn’t in the best place. And that tends to get taken out on the things around him. The pillows, the bed frame, the strong arms holding down as he writhes, screaming, in the throes of another flashback. He’s not proud of it, of losing control when he is still on such fragile footing with these strangers who told him he was free to stay there even as their eyes watched his movements, fingers twitching sometimes. He knew they were armed - hell, he was too, it was the way of the life they led. So he tried to hide most of his damage, as best as he could, and let Steve take the worst of it. Steve always looked at him a bit differently from the others, and he was strong enough to take care of him when Bucky was struggling through another new memory retrieved, painfully and agonizing and another piece slotted back into the frame he was slowly recovering of the man he used to be.

Things changed, some, when Bucky remembered about him and Steve - about how they were before the war, furtive and desperate as they slid against each other, hiding their moans in each other’s mouths so they couldn’t be heard outside the too-thin walls. Bucky... well, he wasn’t proud to admit it, but at first he thought that it was his duty, the reason Steve kept him and cared for him, to make sure Steve was satisfied. The first time Bucky shoved him against the wall and kissed him Steve didn’t even hesitate, just pushed Bucky away with a mix of strength and sadness that seemed unique to Steve alone. “No, Bucky, I don’t care what you’ve remembered but I will _not_ force you to do anything, _ever_ , that you don’t wholeheartedly want to do. I will never punish you for any actions or inactions you take, and I will continue to be here for you as a friend until and if you ever decide you want more.” At which point Steve promptly guided Bucky into the kitchen, set out a feast’s worth of leftovers on the table, and answered every question Bucky had about their old relationship, filling in the gaps where Bucky still couldn’t find all the pieces.

It took a while, at first, for Bucky to finally accept that Steve wasn’t lying, that he wasn’t in trouble, that it was _okay_ to know what he used to have in Steve - a lover, a confidante, a best friend - and yet not have to _be_ that same person that he was before. For the first few days, Bucky kept trying - trying to get Steve to kiss him, to do anything more than just hold Bucky tucked against his chest as they slept huddled together like they did in the war. And every time, Steve pushed him away with a pained and gentle smile. “I ain’t going anywhere, Buck, and I ain’t sending you anywhere ‘neither. But until you _truly_ want this, I will not let you take this farther. Because Bucky, I don’t need you to do anything - I just need _you,_ however you are and however you feel. Just having you here is enough, god, it’s so much more than I ever could have hoped for, Buck, I just want you to be _happy_.” And eventually, he said it enough, in a enough ways and enough smiles that Bucky finally believed him.

And so he spent his days in the Tower, learning and remembering how to live again, how to be human again. He learned to cook again from Clint, whose haphazard mixture of whatever sounded appetizing and easy to cook kept Bucky from worrying about doing things _right_ \- it was simply about doing what felt good. And when it failed, well... they just ordered pizza and called it a worthwhile experiment.

He learned to spar (safely) again with Thor, because he knew Natasha’s fighting style too well - he’d trained her, after all, and wasn’t that ironic - and because Steve was his lifeline in everything else in his life and Bucky wanted just one thing that was just _his_. So he let Thor teach him how to moderate his blows, to remember that it wasn’t killing but just fighting that was the purpose of sparring. Thor was strong enough to take his blows, when Bucky got too caught up to remember that there wasn’t a mission and he struck out too hard, to intent. Thor was honest and always told him when Bucky slipped, when he would have hurt someone too badly had Bucky been fighting with one of his human (and not-super-serum’ed) teammates. And Thor was attentive, ready to sit in companionable silence after a long day as they both contemplated whatever was troubling them at the time, or to weave a grand tale of his adventures in Asgard when Bucky started to get too lost in his head, and needed something to focus on and ground him so he could pull the pieces back together.

He learned to love again, finally, as he slowly sorted through what was _now_ and what was _then_ and what was _something that could be_ and realized that his home was Steve. It always had been, it always would be, and Bucky might not be perfect but he damn well wasn’t going to sit around and wait when he was falling more in love with Steve ever day he woke up and felt Steve’s arms around him, protecting him in their possessiveness even as he slept. He wanted to feel Steve come apart underneath him, as he worshiped the body he once forgot but never stopped loving, even when he couldn’t remember.

And so they got rough, sometimes, which was to be expected. Two super-soldiers and seventy years of separation made for an unbridled enthusiasm that took out a good many furniture items. They would laugh, afterwards, at the destruction that followed them, and they snuck kisses as they cleaned up the mess and sometimes just left it for a bit because it could wait and they could not.

And while they collected a steady stream of new furniture (and adeptly side-stepped Stark’s continued griping that he could “make you some couches that wouldn’t goddamn break every time you sat down on them if you would just goddamn _ask_ ”), they also collected a number of more slightly more permanent records of their actions. Namely, in the various dents, holes, and otherwise imperfections of the various walls and vertical surfaces of the apartment.

And while Steve kept insisting he would get around to fixing them at some point and he flat-out refused to let Tony use that as an excuse to ‘update’ their suite, Bucky was pretty good at giving Steve more important things to think about when they were alone.

Because it may have been a while, but he remembered exactly how to be a goddamn little shit and he had some _plans_ for those imperfections.

It was Natasha that he chose to help him with his plans. Bucky knew that they were dancing around each other, sometimes - they knew each other so very well from before, when the world was a simpler and harsher place and neither could do anything about it. And so he wanted to give her this olive branch, and be a part of her life as it was _now_ and stop focusing on what they had _then_.

And because he knew that she would absolutely _love_ his plan, and as usual he was completely right.

When he pulled her aside after a team dinner and asked for her help, she was worried. Not that you could tell, of course - she schooled her expression too well when she didn’t want you to know what she was thinking. But Bucky read the lines of tension she held, and he might be ashamed of his past but he would never be ashamed of making her the best damn Widow in that place because she _survived_ and she was here today on the side of the good. And so he read her movements, and he saw she was worried.

But as he told her his plans, what he wanted to do and what he needed from her, the tension dropped, shifted, sparked through her as her eyes lit up first with excitement. A quirk of her lips, and - quickly, the ghost of a sharp smile, “James goddamn Barnes, you absolute prankster. Clint is going to be _so jealous_ you came to me for this.” It was a gift, Bucky knew, to see her give him this piece of her, to show him a bit of the woman beneath the mask she wore.

It was an olive branch, accepted and acknowledged, and he was immensely glad that he had made the right choice in coming to her for this.

She helped him pick out what he needed and he savored her grin once more as she dropped him and the supplies off at his suite, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Give him hell, Barnes,” she said, before leaving him to his task.

When Steve walked in a few hours later, it was with a burst of laughter as he looked around and saw Bucky’s handiwork. Scattered around the apartment, at least one in a room, were various small frames highlighting the damages done to the walls. Bucky followed behind as Steve walked through the suite, listening to Steve’s peals of delight as Bucky thought back on the incidents now immortalized on the walls.

“ ‘Patience is a Virtue You Don’t Have’ Medium: Wood, Drywall” read the tag on the wall beside the door. _Sloppy, gasping kisses as Bucky gripped Steve’s hair and pulled, wanting him closer, closer, sliding onto the side-table behind him as Steve stepped into the bracket of Bucky’s thighs, hearing Steve’s absolutely wrecked moan as he surged forward desperately following Bucky’s mouth and the table corner crunched through the wall behind it._

“ ‘Have Your Goddamn Cake and Eat It Too’ Medium: Hand, Drywall” read the tag in the kitchen by the counter. _The taste of Steve bitter and perfect on his tongue as he worked tirelessly to draw those sweet whines from Steve’s throat as Bucky swallowed around Steve’s cock against the back of his own throat, feeling Steve’s hands skitter along Bucky’s shoulders before reaching behind him for support, hearing the crumble as fingers dissolved a new handhold into the wall._

“ ‘Not Actually My Fault’ Medium: Elbow, Stone” read the tag next to the fireplace. _His legs wrapped around Steve’s waist as they kissed, softly, savoring the slow slide of tongues and the gentle press of lips as they rocked, gently, aimlessly, savoring the moment and Bucky gasped, arching his neck as his arm slipped, jerking into the stone behind him as the metal etched a starburst of fine cracks before it left._

“ ‘Okay This Was My Fault’ Medium: Hand. Drywall.” read the tag next to the frame placed partially behind the headboard on the bed. _Bodies moving, arching, chasing, as they scrabbled playfully across the bed, giggles fading to moans as they caught each other, worshiping each other, Steve’s mouth grazing along his chin and hands gripping at Bucky’s thighs, his hips, and Bucky reached behind him to leverage his body to Steve’s and ignored the shatter of the wall above his head as their bodies melded and burned._

Steve’s eyes were sparkling with humor and with more as he turned to face Bucky, and Steve’s face was glowing at the art that Bucky made of their space. He smiled, a great beaming light that turned sly as he paced forward, guiding Bucky against the wall before bracketing his arms around Bucky’s head.

“Well, punk, looks like we should make some more art, then, don’t ya think?”

Three new frames would be hanging on the wall, if they ever got around to hanging them.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://owlmylove.tumblr.com/post/140198425475/freddietomlinson-in-your-otp-who-punches-the).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed my late night/early morning plot bunny, and come find me on [tumblr](http://astudyinsolitude.tumblr.com) and fangirl over these precious boys with me :)


End file.
